When I was a young child, Christmas was my absolute favorite time of the year. I remember staring excitedly at packages under the tree (tempted to touch, but restrained myself) and a line of colourful Christmas cards hanging from a string strewn across our livingroom.
Christmas Eve usually involved midnight mass at Notre Dame Cathedral, followed by a greasy meal at Picasso's. We were so exhausted, the lump of food in our tummies rarely kept us from sleep.
One Christmas morning, I discovered the faint imprint of a footprint near the tree, and was absolutely giddy that Santa had left proof behind (of course, the real culprit was my Dad's wet boot, which temporarily stained Mom's clean carpet).
We had a tradition of opening our gifts after a lavish lunch slaved over by Mom. It was admittedly difficult to be patient, especially when forced to open each present one at a time for all to witness (and be photographed). I always hoped family members enjoyed what I bought them, although Mom must've wondered why I kept getting her soap and bubble bath (not much imagination on my part, I'll admit). Gifts to myself were often head scratchers (one year I received a Medical Dictionary; another, a heavy steel safe) but my family didn't really know what I was interested in. Christmas night was usually a quiet affair, the calm before the storm of visiting extended family.
As I got older, my appreciation of Christmas seemed to dim. Instead of a day I was excited about, it became a time of year I dreaded, involving spending time with folk I didn't really like, maintaining a sheepish grin until the season passed. I remember a few years where I was quite busy with work, and the 25th popped up abruptly, like a whirlwind, only to be over just as quickly (to my relief).
The echoes of Charlie Brown's exhasperated question rang in my ears: 'Can anyone tell me what Christmas is really about?'
Eventually, I figured it out.
It isn't about gifts (despite what the avalanche of television and internet ads proclaiming otherwise), it's about giving. The Three Wise Men discovered a tiny baby lying in a manger, surrounded by angel song; they gave Him presents, while the baby Himself was a selfless gift for us all.
Having my two daughters reminded me that it's also about the raw joy a child feels on December 25th. I try to take time to revel in the uncomplicated happiness of the Season, any stress or melancholy chased away by festive holiday music, cookies, and blinking lights.
I guess it's finally about hope. I'm not sure if today's materialistic, jaded, bitter, and techologically connected folk are able to put things aside and enjoy Christmas like an innocent kid; a Christmas miracle may be when they can, and unselfish giving results in a joyful day where time seems to stand still, and the hope for Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward All doesn't seem quite so ridiculous.
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